


The More Things Change

by kay_emm_gee



Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [23]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Humor, Reunions, Tumblr Prompts, a little bit of, post 2x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First, Clarke comes home, and Bellamy smiles, because home isn't just a place.</p><p>Then, Clarke promises she won't leave again, but none of her friends believe her, not even Bellamy, which results in some laughs and something a little bittersweet.</p><p>So, Clarke is mystified as to how cheek kisses with Bellamy became a thing, but apparently  it is, and, also apparently, it makes her more flustered than she should be about it.</p><p>Finally, Clarke is avoiding Bellamy, and he has no idea why. Although he might just be avoiding her too, though he knows the reason for that perfectly well, and, unluckily in his case, so it seems does everybody else.</p><p>Or, in which the author received four 'Clarke-comes-home' prompts and decided to make a mini-multichapter fic out of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: It's been months after Clarke left Camp Jaha and Bellamy hasn't stopped thinking about her; he's been sad and acting different ever since. One day when Octavia comes to sit and talk to him, everyone is shouting to open the gates, and Octavia goes to see and calls Bellamy over, and he sees Clarke for the first time in what feels like forever. And they act all cute etc.

Bellamy put down his axe, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his arm. It was incredible (and a little annoying) to him, really, that even this early in the spring that it was so muggy out. Still, he had to admit it was a nice change after the brutally dry and cold winter the camp had had. As the sun beat down on him, he itched to get back to chopping up the stripped log in front of him, but his internal clock told him it was about time for Octavia’s visit.

Dropping onto the log, he stretched out his legs, looking across the yard for his sister’s figure. Sure enough, within a minute, there she was, walking right to him. He watched her approach, debating between a smile and an eye roll to greet her, because he loved her, but the whole watchdog routine was getting old.

“You’re working real hard there,” she greeted him dryly.

“It’s hard to get work done when you keep interrupting,” he said, taking her offered canteen and slugging down some water while she pursed her lips.

“Somebody’s got to take care of you,” she muttered.

Bellamy laughed. “When did I become the responsibility and you the caretaker?”

He expected a pointed retort or, at the very least, a smart-ass grin from Octavia for that comment, but instead she stared at him, concern in her eyes.

“What?” He asked, not liking the cautious way she was holding back her words.

She shook her head, as if trying to downplay whatever tension she was feeling, motioning for the canteen instead. Bellamy passed it over, but he didn’t want to let this go. It wasn’t like Octavia to keep her opinions to herself, and his mind raced at what could be bothering her.

“Spit it out, O.”

“Is it so bad I’m looking out for you?”

“No, but you check up on me once, probably twice a day. What gives?”

“You’re sad, Bell.”

Bellamy snorted, shaking his head. Sad was the last thing he was. Sure, it had been a hard winter, but Harper’s nightmares had finally died down to once every few weeks instead of every few days, the new cabins were being constructed, and his and Monty’s positions on the Council were solid. His people were moving on from surviving to living, and would soon be thriving. He couldn’t ask for much better circumstances.

“I’m fine, O. Go worry about Lincoln, or Jasper for that matter. God knows he needs someone watching him,” he replied, standing and reaching for the axe. “I’m good.”

“I know you,” she pressed, catching his arm with a firm hand. “You smile, but you don’t mean it. It’s the way you used to smile at me back on the Ark. There was always bitterness in it. I saw it then, and I see it now.”

Shaking off her grip, he kicked at the log at his feet, not liking how her words settled too comfortably in his chest. They stirred up a tightness, one that came over him when Kane looked to him alone for a decision or when he woke wide awake in the dead of night, gasping at the mountain memories from months ago. Looking up, he caught Octavia staring at him, a fierce but understanding expression on her face.

“You’re not happy, Bell. Content, at best, maybe. But you’re not happy.”

Sighing, Bellamy tapped the head of the axe on the ground a few times before answering. “I’m working on it, O. It’s better than it used to be.”

“You miss her,” Octavia said quietly, shifting closer to him, as if she expected him to cut and run at her words.

Tilting his head, he turned away from his sister. “I do, but she’s gone, and I have our people to take care of.”

“Bell—”

“Octavia,” he warned, because they had had this fight before. Surprisingly, though, when he looked down at her, the animosity that usually shadowed her eyes when they talked about Clarke was no longer there. Reaching up, he tugged on one of her braids, feeling relieved when she finally smiled.  

“I told you, it’s getting better.”

“Alright,” she relented grudgingly. “I’m still gonna check up on you, though.”

“Payback for all my worrying about you, huh?” He teased, trying to coax her back into a happier mood, hating that his own storminess was wearing on her.

She laughed, punching him in the upper arm. “Damn straight.”

Grinning, he pulled her in tight, smacking a loud, wet kiss to her forehead. Just as she groaned and tried to poke him in the side in retaliation, the warning bell sounded, signaling someone at the gate.

“Are we expecting a Trigedakru contingent this week?” He asked, his stomach sinking when Octavia tensed and shook her head.

“This can’t be good,” he muttered, reaching for his gun. Octavia unsheathed the sword at her back, setting off at a jog. He wasn’t that far behind her, so when she stopped dead at the now open gate, he practically slammed into her, not expecting the pause.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “Bell, oh my god.”

“What?” He barked, gripping his rifle tighter because  _of course this peace wouldn’t last long._

“She’s back.”

Bellamy heard the words, but he didn’t believe it. Looking out towards the tree line, he saw a small crowd gathered around a familiar head of blonde, one that was tucked into shoulder after shoulder as their people enveloped her in hugs.

“She’s back!” Octavia practically yelled, whipped around to clasp Bellamy’s shoulder tightly. Her face lit up with anxious excitement, which softened when he looked at her. “I’ll tell everybody. You go see her, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, she darted off, running for the Ark, presumably to find Monty and Raven and whoever else she thought should know. As Bellamy willed himself to move towards her, though, he found his feet planted firmly in place. Indecision overwhelmed him, and he contemplated following his sister, not quite sure how to deal with the surge of anxiety and happiness welling up in his chest, which he suspected would get even worse when he got closer. The choice to greet Clarke now rather than later was made for him, though, when she and the others started walking back to camp.

The closer she got, the tighter his chest felt— _what the hell was with that,_  he thought in annoyance. He took a deep breath in and leaned against one of the entrance posts, gaze flicking between his mud-caked boots and the approaching group. The various delinquents and Arkers passed him as they filtered back into the yard, chatting and grinning happily, with Clarke following, though she remained further and further towards the back of the group. Finally, it was just Abby left in front of her, who, after squeezing her daughter’s arm, smiled at Bellamy before leaving him alone with Clarke.

“Hi,” she said, drawing out the word gently. She smiled, just a bit, watching him in that assessing, careful way of hers. Swallowing thickly, Bellamy nodded at her, dropping his head to hide his growing grin.

“Hey,” he murmured, lifting his head back up and catching her eye, watching as she pressed her lips together in amusement. “Welcome back.”

“It’s good to be here,” she said, her tone light but serious. The knots in his chest eased, and Bellamy huffed out a breath, because she sounded certain, resolute. He couldn’t help but to continue grinning at her, and her own smile only grew in response.

After letting out an awkward, quiet laugh that had him shaking his head in amusement, she started forward to walk into the camp. Thinking quickly, because maybe she deserved a  _little_  bit of a hard time for leaving, Bellamy kicked out a leg, halting her. She stared up at him, worried lines starting to crease her forehead. As she backed up a step, her expression falling, he cleared his throat and said, “Password.”

Her mouth parted in confusion, then she closed her eyes and huffed disbelievingly, a small smile gracing her face.

“Asshole,” she said decisively, staring him down.

“Nope, not it,” he said calmly. “Try again.”

“Bellamy Blake is a dic—”

“Enh,” he interrupted. “Come on, there are kids around.”

“Whatever the hell we want,” she said mockingly

Grinning, Bellamy shook his head. “Cute, but no. One last try.”

“I missed you.”

His breath caught at her earnest openness in her eyes, and then he grinned. Moving forward, he leaned down to drop a soft kiss onto her cheek, hugging her tightly afterwards. When he pulled away, she was smiling, and so he replied, “I missed you, too.”

“So, am I allowed in now?” Clarke asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Sliding a hand against her lower back, Bellamy pushed her forward a bit forcefully, laughing as she shot him a dirty look. “Right behind you,” he teased, stepping up to her side.

As they walked towards the Ark, where her loved ones where no doubt waiting for her, Bellamy couldn’t help but point out the progress they had made with the camp. The cabins, the expanded food-prep area, the fortified defenses, the beginnings of the greenhouse. As he rambled, he realized there was no awkwardness, no resentment, no distance between him and her. For all the time he spent worrying about how it would feel to have Clarke back ( _if_  she came back, because he really hadn’t been sure), the easy camaraderie that existed between them still, even after so much time apart, surprised him. It wasn’t until they were almost at the Ark that he registered the wide grin on Clarke’s face, her eyes dancing with laughter.

“What?” He asked.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, still smiling. “It’s just—you’re different.”

He stopped walking, looking at her again in puzzlement. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. She bit her lip, looking up at him. Her gaze softened as she continued to stare, and Bellamy shifted, a bit uncomfortable with her intensity. “You just sound, proud, I guess. And you should be,” she finished in a rush, hands flexing as if to ward off his protest. “You’ve done so good here. It’s really—it’s wonderful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Her answer, and the sureness in it, wasn’t something Bellamy needed, because it was true: he was damn proud of what their people had been able to accomplish, and he didn’t need anyone else’s approval to feel that way. Regardless, it was nice to hear her say it, so he smiled, walking forward again. He was so busy looking at Clarke, who was still smiling widely too, that he almost ran into Octavia.

“Hey,” she said, glancing between him and Clarke shrewdly. “You should hurry up,” she advised Clarke. “I don’t think I can hold back the adoring masses much longer.”

With a laugh, Clarke touched Octavia’s arm before moving down the hall to the Council room. Bellamy went to follow, trying to ignore the smug energy radiating off his sister.

“You seem better,” she said, her tone annoyingly knowing.

“I told you I was fine,” Bellamy replied evenly. “You were worried for nothing.”

“Uh huh,” Octavia murmured.

“It’s good to have her back,” he admitted, feeling the corners of his lips curve up into yet another smile.

Suddenly, his sister jerked him to a stop, looking up at him with a calculating stare. Her eyes widened as she took in his (yes, still smiling) face, and then she let out a small bark of a laugh.

“Oh man,” she said, steepling her hands against her mouth.

“What?” Bellamy said, folding his arms over his chest because  _that_  look on his sister’s face never led to anything other than laughter from her and a headache for him.

Shaking her head, Octavia started walking again as she called a singsong ‘nothing’ over her shoulder. Grumbling, he started after her, intending on demanding that she explain what she was so pleased about, but they reached the raucous reunion in the Council room before he could pursue it. Sighing, he let it go for now, because Clarke was back, and well, that was something well worth celebrating without distraction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clarke gets back and Bellamy practically glues himself to her, because he's scared she'll leave again.

Clarke had figured her friends would give her hell about leaving, but she expected disapproving glares and cold shoulders upon her return. She had abandoned them, or at least she thought that’s how some of them would see it. Apparently, though, she had forgotten that when it came to the delinquents, sarcasm and mockery were their go-to form of punishment. So, when she felt her stomach grumble for the third time in ten minutes, she flicked a glance towards Harper, who was just about to go into the medbay stock room. Seeing her chance, Clarke abandoned the work at her desk and hurried toward the door. She was so busy glancing behind her to make sure Harper didn’t come after her that she didn’t see Raven coming out of her workroom.

“Looks like we’ve got a runner,” the mechanic teased.

Clarke sighed, trying to sidestep her.

Raven just blocked her, smiling as she asked, “Where are—”

“Don’t say it.”

“–going, Clarke?”

Sighing, Clarke rolled her eyes. This was their thing now, the delinquents jokingly asking Clarke where she was going every time she took a single step anywhere. It was amusing to her the first week, and sure, she’d take the heat, but now, well, now it was wearing on her, though everybody else seemed to still be enjoying the teasing.

“I’m going to go get some goddamn lunch because my stomach feels like it’s eating itself, okay?” Clarke muttered, narrowing her eyes as Raven raised a radio to her mouth.

“She’s coming your way, Monty. Keep an eye out.”

The radio crackled as Monty called in a confirmation, concluding with a cheerful  _see you soon, Clarke!_

Punching Raven’s shoulder on her way past, which just made the mechanic laugh, Clarke strode down the hall, muttering under her breath about people having better things to do than monitor her whereabouts. Still, she didn’t quite have the heart to ask them to stop; she knew it was their way of expressing how much they missed her. And after months of solitude, she’d admit that as annoying as their smug grins were, it was also nice to know people were looking after her.

Still, as she headed for the yard, she contemplated stopping by her room unexpectedly on the way to lunch just to spite her friends. Though the last time she had made a detour like that, Jasper had gone to her mom in a panic, claiming she was missing, which had not ended well for either of them once she had been located. As she paused at the fork in the hallway, weighing her options, a familiar pair of footsteps approached from behind.

“You lost?” Bellamy joked, stopping at her side.

Clarke snorted. “Just wondering how worried Monty will be if I take a little bit of extra time to stop by my room before heading to lunch.”

“Very worried.”

Sighing, Clarke took the left fork with trudging steps, pursing her lips at the chuckling sound Bellamy let out as he followed her.

“What, did they send you to check up on me?” Clarke snapped, her hunger making her feel less patient than usual.

Bellamy just raised an admonishing eyebrow in response. “I have better things to do than keep an eye on your whereabouts. And it’s lunchtime, if you haven’t noticed. Everyone’s heading outside, not just you.”

Clarke didn’t say anything in response, just flexed her lips a little tighter to hide her slight embarrassment at being so hostile.

“I can get them to ease up, you know,” Bellamy offered as the walked into the sunlight camp yard. “If you want.”

Shrugging, Clarke shook her head. “They’ll stop eventually, right?”

Bellamy’s silence spoke volumes, being both amused and exasperated at the same time. Clarke let out a small, resigned laugh, because deep down she knew ‘eventually’ was a long way off.

Giving up for now, she made sure to give sarcastic wave in Monty’s direction so he could confirm she made it outside, and then got lunch with Bellamy. That was something they did almost everyday. Clarke had a lot to catch up on, even after being back for a while, especially since the Council was a little reluctant to let her step back up into a leadership role after leaving so abruptly. It didn’t matter though, because Bellamy just told her everything they talked about anyways, using her as a sounding board for how to approach dealing with them.

He was particularly riled up today, words spilling out of his mouth excitedly and frustratedly in turn, and the lunch hour flew by. It was only when she tapped her dad’s watch amusedly that Bellamy quieted, throwing her a sheepish smile before waving her off back to the medbay.

“Aren’t you going to radio Harper that I’m on my way back?” She teased.

He shrugged, a lightness in his eyes. “I trust you to get there without incident.”

“You’re the only one, it seems,” Clarke replied with a laugh.

Something flickered across his face, almost regretful, but it was gone before she could really put her finger on what it was. With nothing else to go on, though, she had no choice but to go back to medical, leaving him behind.

As fleeting as that look on Bellamy’s face had been, however, the way it lingered in Clarke’s mind was not. Over the next few hours, her thoughts churned as she tried to figure out what it meant. She became so distracted that even the usually even-tempered Harper got frustrated with her lack of focus. After apologizing, Clarke finally excused herself from the medbay early, figuring she was going to be of no help today. So, with a good amount of time left until dinner, she ambled over to Raven’s workroom, which was currently filled with loud clanking noises and even louder shouts.

“Damn it, Reyes, that’s not where that goes! Designs are made for a reason, wrench monkey.”

“Fucking useless design, Wick. And let go of my screwdriver!”

There was a grunt from Raven, followed by an affronted cry from Wick, who was peering at the back of his left forearm in disbelief when Clarke finally entered.

“She pinched me!” He said accusingly, glancing with offended eyes at Clarke.

She just snorted out a laugh, which had Raven grinning.

“Didn’t you know Wick?” The mechanic taunted, her amused eyes flicking between her co-worker and Clarke. “Clarke always picks me first. You’re not going to get her on your side. So stop whining and find me more screws so I can finish this up.”

“I’m gonna bruise,” Wick muttered, which got a snort out of Raven and, in turn, made Clarke smile fondly at the pair. It was nice, to see Raven like this, almost like she had been when she first arrived on Earth: happy, carefree. Not that any of them were truly that anymore, not after all they had gone through, but this right here was pretty damn close.

Suddenly the radio on the table squawked, Jasper’s voice coming through. “Clarke isn’t in the medbay! I repeat, Clarke is missing from the medbay!”

With an aggrieved sigh, Raven slammed the screwdriver down on the table to exchange it for the radio.

“What did we say about using that word, moron?” She grumbled into the mouthpiece. “‘Missing’ is an emergency word, get that through your thick skull. And she’s right here with me, so calm down.”

“Roger, Reyes,” Jasper signed off with an exaggerated, relieved sigh.

With a shake of her head, Raven turned back to her project, all the while subtly blocking Wick’s renewed attempts to help. As Clarke watched them tussle, thoughts of Bellamy and his weird reaction at lunch crept back in, and she couldn’t handle the confusion it stirred up in her anymore.

“Why is Bellamy the only one who doesn’t track my movements by the minute?”

Wick choked out a laugh, which turned into a wheezing huff when Raven nailed him in the stomach with her elbow.

“Because he’s got a stick up his butt,” Raven answered firmly, but she was consciously not making any sort of eye contact with Clarke. “Well, I guess the Council put the stick up his butt, so it’s not really his fault he can’t join in on the fun—needs to be a role model, or some bullshit.”

Clarke hummed, not quite buying the story. “Really?”

“At least  _now_  that’s the case,” Wick added, earning a pointed glare from Raven.

“Now?” Clarke repeated, her pulse jumping because she  _knew_ there was more to the story.

Raven and Wick exchanged a look, and the intimacy and understanding in it made Clarke’s throat ache. Things with Bellamy were good, much better than she had expected after being away, but their time apart had indeed created distance. They had done away with most of it, almost immediately, but there was a small bit that was still proving insurmountable. She missed being in perfect sync with her co-leader, and maybe finding out what these two knew would help with that.

“Raven,” she warned, turning her expression steely.

Her friend scowled back, whacking Wick one more time as if to say  _this is your fault_  before sighing in defeat.

“He used to post up outside your room,” she muttered, twirling the screwdriver between her hands. “When you first got back, I mean. You’d go to bed, and a little later, he’d disappear, and eventually, after curiosity got the better of her, Octavia started following him. He’d sit in the hall, cleaning some of the guns, or whittling, or even friggin’ mending clothes—you know he can’t sit still. Anyways—he was keeping watch. While you slept. Making sure you, you know, didn’t sneak off in the night. Or whatever.”

“He doesn’t trust me?” Clarke asked, wincing at how wounded her voice sounded.

“You  _left_ , Clarke,” Raven murmured, her face softening even as a little bit of hurt shadowed her eyes. “It was—he had a difficult time when we first got back. You know the Council, what they’re like. It’s Bellamy, though, so he found his footing eventually, and has done incredibly well ever since. Still—”

“I left.”

“You left.”

Clarke sighed, reaching up to rub away the tension that was gathering between her eyes. “And now?”

“He hasn’t been outside your room for weeks. You’re good.” Raven tapped the screwdriver on the table, as if declaring a verdict. “Really,” she emphasized, reading the doubt that Clarke guessed still lingered on her face.

“Okay. Thanks,” she responded, shooting Raven a small smile.

“Anytime,” the mechanic said fondly, then scowled and smacked Wick’s hand, which had been reaching for a nearby wrench. “Don’t touch that!”

“Reyes, will you just let me help, damn it—”

“I said don’t touch it!”

Chuckling under her breath, Clarke turned and left, letting Raven and Wick get on with their weird flirting. She wandered the halls of the Ark, letting her conversation with them settle in so she could put her tumultuous thoughts to rest.

They didn’t really calm, though, until much later in the night, when Clarke ran into Bellamy on her way back from getting a refill of moonshine while she was drinking with some of the delinquents. The way he smiled at her when they met immediately put any doubts of hers to rest, and feeling a little brave because of the liquor she’d drank earlier, Clarke returned his  _hey there_  by reaching up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“What was that for?” He said with a laugh.

“Being you,” she responded lightly, just a little bit of teasing in her tone.

“Alright, that’s enough moonshine for you,” he bantered back, trying to tug the cup out of her hands.

“Raven was right,” she shot back, grinning. “You do have a stick up your butt.”

“That’s rude.”

“That’s Raven.”

He laughed, low and kind, and Clarke joined in, realizing that just maybe whatever still stood between them wasn’t quite as impossible to overcome as she had thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Based on a tumblr post - it takes place a little while after Clarke returns to camp Jaha, and her and Bellamy are really close. They're not dating yet, but they have this thing where they just give each other casual cheek kisses all the time, and everyone else is like wtf but Bellarke's not even paying attention because kissing each other is just their thing. REALLY FLUFFY!!! xoxox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Because of where I’m fitting this prompt into the serial I have going on, fluff just wasn’t in the cards for this section - though we do get plenty of cheek kisses! And as we all know, every Bellarke story needs some messy, unacknowledged and/or repressed feelings ;)

Clarke didn’t know how the habit started, or why—she did know when, precisely when, because how could she forget leaving Bellamy at that gate, never in a million years could she forget the way his cheek felt warm against her mouth, or the dull pain of leaving him behind—but lips-to-cheek was something they did now. Not all that often, but when it mattered. When she went off on a risky scouting mission, when he came back two days late from a hunting trip. Usually they disguised it by trading whispers, or embracing each other in tight hugs. The exchanges might not even be considered kisses by real standards, just a faint brush of mouth against cheek, the barest of touches that were weighty all the same.

Everybody noticed (how could they not) but Clarke ignored the raised eyebrows and bitten back smiles—this  _thing_ was theirs, and no one could take that from them. Even so, though, the origin of the habit eluded her. It was dark, murky, muddled—an endless thread tangled up in  _I need you’s_ and _I can’t lose you too’s_ , hidden among missed wishes on shooting stars and long-overdue shared cups of moonshine. Sometimes Clarke wondered if she at least knew the how, then she might be able to figure out the why (or at least admit it, because she was a smart girl, so a part of her knew the why, even if she ignored it).

So she didn’t know the how or the why, but she did remember the moment when the press of his lips against her cheek, even as frequent as it had become since her return, started making her heart beat just a little bit faster.

* * *

Her mother had been shot.

A stray arrow, an accident. Out mapping the terrain, Abby and her group had strayed too close to the Trigedakru border, gotten in the path of a hunted deer, and an arrow intended for the flank of the animal had instead landed in her mother’s shoulder.

It could’ve been worse, and Jackson actually smiled when Abby stayed conscious through the entire extraction and stitching process– _that’s a good thing Clarke_ , he had said, so reassuringly—but her mother had been shot. If things had been different, if Abby had heard a noise and turned, or been walking just the slightest bit slower, the arrow would’ve pierced her lung, maybe even her heart. And she would have been dead.

As tears welled up in Clarke’s eyes, her vision blurred, making the metal walls of the hall outside the medbay warp and twist before her. She dug her fingers into her thighs, nails sharp even though the heavy, rough material of her pants. Her mother was alive, and going to stay that way. Clarke knew this, she  _knew_  this, but her breaths quickened and became haggard, cries lodging in her throat, which was too thick with alarm and grief to let them out. The pressure built, and built, her chest frantically expanding as she tried to shake off the panic binding itself around her.

It didn’t let up, squeezing her in its painful embrace and she couldn’t move her arms. Clarke let out a fearful sob, because she just needed to get  _free_ , needed to  _move_ , to get away and run, run, run—

Her breath hitched as her wet cheek warmed against the firm, comforting, and oh-so-familiar touch suddenly pressing against her skin, and while the physical contact of Bellamy’s lips might be familiar, the way her heart leapt uncontrollably at the feeling was most certainly not.

Then, with a hiccup, she broke out of her trance and registered it was not her panic, but Bellamy’s arms, keeping her in place, banded around her in a tight hug. Blinking away the tears, she rested her hands on his hips, and she felt him immediately relax at the contact.

He pressed one more kiss to her cheek—which had her heart stuttering again—before pulling back, looking down at her in concern.

“Hey,” he said, voice quiet. “She’s okay. You’re okay.”

Clarke nodded frantically, even as tears welled up in her eyes again. With a sigh Bellamy pulled her back into him, and Clarke choked out a nervous laugh as she pressed her nose into his chest.

“People are staring, aren’t they?” She muttered into his jacket, which smelled like pine and metal and salt.

“Nope,” he murmured into her hair, even as he began walking her slowly backward into a more deserted part of the hallway.

“Liar,” Clarke whispered, drawing a soft laugh from him.

Bellamy held her for a few more minutes and though it did a lot of good towards slowing her breathing, it did nothing to help her racing heart. In fact, when he finally did pull away, nothing changed—her face still felt flushed, her pulse pounded loudly in her chest. He seemed unaware though, giving her the same friendly smile he always did.

When she continued to stare at him wordlessly, though, and the minutes dragged by, his forehead pulled together in concern. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, Clarke frantically cobbled together her thoughts.

“I’m okay,” she said, words thick and heavy, like cotton in her dry mouth.

Bellamy just raised an eyebrow, looking so utterly disbelieving that it drew a soft laugh from her.

“Really,” she urged, reaching up to rest a hand on his arm but pulling it back at the last minute, too hesitant. “I’m fine. My mom is fine, and I’m fine. I promise.”

He searched her face intently for a few long seconds before giving her one of his accepting nods, those little bobs of the head that had been their first form of nonverbal communication, dating way back to the dropship, wordless assurance that he agreed with her, believed her, that they were in this together. It was so familiar, so very Bellamy. Clarke bit her lip, because everything he did—the head nodding, hands running through his hair, shoulders tensing—all of that she so easily could read, could decipher, without fail—all except his lips brushing against her cheek. That simple gesture still confused her: too intimate to be meaningless, to friendly to be something more, at least to him.

Reflexively, she reached up to rub the spot where his mouth had been, lowering her eyes as she did so, not wanting him to notice the gesture.

“C’mon you should eat,” Bellamy said, throwing an arm around her shoulder, apparently oblivious to her scattered thoughts.

Humming in vague agreement, she leaned into him, falling into rhythm with his relaxed stride. As they passed by the medbay and she heard her mother’s low, raspy, tired whisper, Clarke tensed, but before she could break away, she felt Bellamy’s hand rise from its place on her shoulder to cup one side of her face, gently pushing her head closer to his so he could kiss the cheek closest to him.

“Jackson’s got her,” he whispered in her ear as he guided her further down the hall. “You’re okay.”

Clarke choked back a desperate laugh, because the way her heart was racing yet again at the contact of his lips against her skin, she was very, very far from okay.

* * *

From that moment, Clarke learned to live with the changes in her pulse whenever Bellamy leaned in, his warm mouth against her cheek, his body almost touching hers, his earthy scent washing over her–because the way his mouth curved up, so relaxed, transparent,  _friendly_  meant his heartbeat was probably calm and placid, nowhere near as frantic as her own whenever they were in close proximity. 

They were friends, best friends, ( _and she had left, left him–and she was still putting her pieces together, and he deserved more_ ) so she kept it all to herself, muffling the screaming beat of her heart so that she was the only one who would hear the thudding whispers of it wanting something more. 

It was just another thing she would have to bear alone–but what else was new.

_Just another day on the ground._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bellamy seeing clarke for the first time in what feels like forever and he's back to his normal self except happier and everyone in the camp knows that Bellamy likes Clarke and Clarke likes Bellamy except them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tweaked the prompt a bit, but kept the last part :)

He tried not to look over at her—really, he tried. He listened harder to Octavia chatter about her next training round with the guard recruits, and he tossed the ball back with Miller. It couldn’t be helped though. His eyes still drifted to Clarke.

She lingered at the tree line, just cautiously watching the rest of the delinquents enjoy their day trip to the lake. It had been Monty’s idea, and that was probably the only reason she was even here in the first place.

Well, maybe not the only reason.

_I don’t know if I’m going to go_ , she had said to him a few days ago when he had started to talk about trip logistics with her.

He had just snorted and continued on talking, because he wasn’t going to let her get away with not taking a day off. They deserved it, especially her.

_Bell, really,_  she had sighed tiredly. _Go talk to Monty about this stuff. I don’t think I’m going._

Ignoring the way his pulse had stuttered at her use of his nickname, he had elbowed her side.  _You’re going. Like we’re going to leave you here to work while we all go have fun. Unless you don’t like fun._

That had lit a fire in her eyes, and she had narrowed her gaze.  _I like fun._

He had raised an eyebrow in mocking doubt, and she had scowled.  _Fine. But I’m not going in the water._

He had agreed to that, but the way she was acting now, as if she was actually allergic to the water, wasn’t quite what he thought she had meant.

Glancing over at her again, he stared long enough that he almost missed catching the ball. Miller threw him a shit-eating grin—the fucker had almost nailed him in the head on purpose—so Bellamy flicked him the finger in response.

“Just go over and talk to her,” Octavia groaned. “Before you get a black eye.”

“She’s fine on her own,” Bellamy replied, lobbing the ball back to Miller, feeling slightly more satisfied at hearing the slightly pained oomph his friend let out after catching the overly forceful pass.

“She only came because you wanted her too.”

“Nobody makes Clarke do anything.”

“I didn’t say make,” Octavia sniped. “I said  _wanted._  Seriously, you two need to stop dancing around each other. It’s getting tiresome.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, O.”  

“Clarke likes you. You like Clarke. Now go do something about it.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the first time his sister had touched on this subject, but it was certainly the first time she had been blunt about it. Sure, there were times when he leaned down to kiss Clarke’s cheek and had thought about what would happen if he planted it on her lips instead, or times when she was close enough for him to want to reach out and grab her hand, just because, or times when her low laughter scraped along his spine, making him shiver and flush and  _want_  all at the same time.

“She’s been avoiding you, hasn’t she?”

Bellamy frowned a bit, because his suspicion was correct. He  _had_  noticed Clarke around him less lately, but he had spent a lot of time convincing himself that it wasn’t personal. She was busy, he was busy—hell, everyone was busy preparing for the rapidly approaching cooler season. Over and over again he had tried to shake off the creeping sense of unease that ate away at him whenever she jerked her gaze away from him, or changed directions when their paths would cross in the camp yard.

If Octavia had noticed it, he wasn’t imagining it, and if he wasn’t imagining it, then something was wrong, wrong with the two of them. His heart sank at the thought.

“You going to throw the ball or what?” Miller complained, sauntering over to them.

“Sorry. O distracted me.”

“I’m  _trying_  to get my brother’s head out of his ass.”

Bellamy rapidly chucked the ball at Octavia in retaliation, but her quick reflexes kicked in and she caught it with ease.

“Clarke’s been avoiding him, right? I’m not the only one who sees it?”

Miller looked pained that he was being pulled into this drama. Still, he answered, “Yeah. Monty said something about it the other night.”

Bellamy smirked at his friend. “ _Monty_  said?”

“Fuck you,” Miller grumbled, turning bright red even as he scowled at the siblings.

“See!” Octavia exclaimed. “And Harper and Monroe were talking about it too.”

“Everyone needs to stop making shit up,” Bellamy said, anger and guilt coiling around inside him. “Clarke doesn’t need any of this getting back to her. She’s had a hard enough time as it is, after Finn, and Lexa—”

O’s glare turned murderous at the last name. “Don’t. And besides, I’m not ‘making shit up’. You like her. I knew it the moment she walked back in through the gate.”

Bellamy opened his mouth to deny it, but Octavia poked his arm. “You laughed for the first time in months on the day she came back, sat outside her bedroom for who knows how many nights to make sure she stayed—yeah, I know about that—and you watch her, all the time.”

“O—,” Bellamy warned, because she was getting a bit too loud for his liking.

“She watches you too, you know,” Miller piped in. “I mean, most of the time it’s staring at your back dejectedly, or at your ass, but either way counts.”

Octavia smiled triumphantly, and Miller looked like he was about to laugh, but to Bellamy there was nothing funny about this conversation. An aching sadness filled him, and exhaustion, because he was tired, so very tired of wanting this he (probably) could never have.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he muttered, glaring at his sister.

“You’re telling me you don’t notice how much she blushes every time you give her one of those cheek kisses? Which are sickeningly sweet, by the way. Makes me want to vomit.”

“I have to watch Lincoln turn to mush over you when you have a good training session, so you can shut up about that right now,” he shot back. “And she’s avoiding me, as you so kindly pointed out, so what I  _allegedly_  may or may not be feeling is pointless.”

Octavia threw up her hands and huffed. She looked so exasperated that Bellamy finally felt a little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“How did you ever get tricked into playing second to my dumbass of a brother?” She complained at Miller, who shrugged amusedly. Then she turned her ire back to him. “She  _likes_  you, idiot. That’s why she’s avoiding you.”

He fought against the hopeful feeling that Octavia’s words sparked, because that was too much to ask for, too simple of an explanation. And nothing was simple for him, for them, not ever.

A sharp shriek sounded from behind them, distracting him from their conversation.

He turned around just in time to see a few of the delinquents happily, ignorantly toss a yelling Clarke into the deep end of the lake. His breath caught as he watched her blonde head disappear into the murky blue-green, because the one thing he had promised her was that she wouldn’t have to go in the water.

Swearing, he took off into the lake. As soon as he was knee-deep, he dove forward, swimming furiously for where he had seen her last. It took him a minute of groping in the depths to find her, but then his hand found hers, clamping around her wrist to yank her to the surface. She spluttered in the warm air when they reached it. As he towed her back to shore, he was careful not to hold her too tightly, wanting her to get all the air she could.

When he hauled her onto the warm sand, Clarke was still coughing up lake water. The delinquents started to cluster around, but he furiously waved them back. She needed air, and space, and to not be around idiots who threw unwilling people into deep water. Anger at the well-meaning but also carelessness actions of their friends bubbled under his skin, but he fought it back by focusing on brushing away strands of hair plastered wetly across her face.

Clarke blinked up at him in confusion, her face stricken as she sucked in shallow breaths. She tried to speak, but more water came up.

Bellamy shushed her. “Just breathe, Clarke. Breathe.”

After another few seconds, she tried again, but instead of saying something, her final cough turned into a laugh. She laughed, and laughed, the sound going deep, coming from her belly. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes, and Bellamy was so shocked that it took him a little while to notice that at some point her laughs had turned into sobs. The sound of concerned whispers from around them rose sharply in his awareness as Clarke continued to cry.

Apparently she had noticed too, because she turned over onto all fours, hacking up the last dregs of water in her lungs before scrambling up. Bellamy was too slow to catch her, and she staggered for the trees. Octavia tried to stop her, but Clarke pushed her away, setting off at a run. Panicking, Bellamy sped after her into the forest. She was surprisingly fast for someone who had just almost drowned—she could swim, he  _knew_  she could swim, so  _what had happened_ —and it took him a while to catch up.

When he did, he almost ran into her, for she had stopped in the middle of a clearing, hunched over, hands braced on her thighs as she breathed heavily. Looking up through her curtain of tangled hair, she met his gaze with red-rimmed eyes.

“What the hell was that?” He wheezed a bit angrily. It was stupid of her, to run off.

She coughed in response, and his frustration turned to concern.

“Sorry,” he bit out as he rubbed her back.

She startled at the contact, whipping around to face him. Bellamy watched her swallow thickly as she hastily wiped away the last evidence of her tears.

“Are you okay?” He asked gruffly, stepping towards her even as he felt her lean away. He stood his ground this time, though, the memory of his conversation with Octavia still fresh in his mind. Maybe it was time to prove his sister wrong.

_Or prove her right_ , a quiet voiced murmured in his head.

“I’m fine,” Clarke stammered unconvincingly.

“What happened back there?” He pressed. “That was more than a reaction to almost being accidentally drowned by friends.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

Her eyes widened at his scathing tone, and he felt her gaze run over every part of him, assessing, considering. It felt strange, to have her looking at him so openly after weeks of averted glances and indirect eye contact. It felt wonderful, too.

After a heavy pause that had him struggling to breathe, she finally said, “I was thinking about Finn.”

His stomach twisted, and he tensed, because he thought they had buried her grief and her guilt about their friend long ago.

Then she shook her head, closing her eyes as she smiled sadly. “Not—not like that.” She took a small, hesitant step closer, and Bellamy felt his lungs expand, finally getting enough air.

Her eyes flew open, startlingly blue and clear, and she began again. “I was under the water, trying to swim, and all I could think about was Finn, and our first day on Earth. We were looking for Jasper, after the Grounders had taken him, and we found this watering hole. He jumped right under, and I remember—oh god, I was so mad when he splashed me and yanked me in.”

A laugh bubbled out of Clarke, a bright, pure sound that had Bellamy smiling reflexively.

“It was my first time ever in the water that day, and I had been just as unhappy about it as I was today.”

She laughed again, a bit sadder his time, her smile fading. “We found Jasper not too much later.”

“I remember,” Bellamy murmured.

Clarke didn’t seem to notice, though, staring off into the forest behind him. “He was alive,” she continued. “I was so surprised, and confused, but most of all relieved. Oh god, I was so relieved that he hadn’t died. That another one of us hadn’t died.”

“You almost died that day.”

Her gaze snapped back to his face at the words, which had slipped out of his mouth without thought.

“And you saved me.” 

Her response was immediate, plainly spoken, almost reprimanding, as if she could sense the guilt that flooded him as he remembered hesitating pulling her up from that pit.

“You weren’t going to let me fall,” she murmured firmly, taking another step closer.

He grimaced, because he was never sure, no matter how many times he replayed that particular memory in his head—and he had, a lot, while Clarke had been gone—what he had truly intended to do.

“You saved my life, Bellamy.”

And suddenly she was right there, hands gripping his face tightly, forcing him to look into her stubborn stare, that same one that had had him following her into the forest that day.

_They’re thinking only one of us is scared._ He didn’t feel scared anymore, though, not of losing to her, nor of losing her either. Because she had come back—she always came back.

“You saved me,” she whispered again, her words weighted with something entirely different this time, and then she kissed him.

Her lips were soft and curious, their pressure surprisingly hesitant for the force of a woman that he knew she was. It was a question, a plea, and a reassurance all at once, and he answered by pulling her into a tight embrace that was an answer, a pledge, and a promise in return.

Sealing his arms around her, he parted her mouth, bending her backwards just the slightest as he deepened the kiss. She moaned in surprise, sliding her hands up into his hair, tugging slightly. The sensation and intimacy of that gesture had sharp heat spiraling across his skin, and Bellamy unwrapped his arms so he could run his hands under her shirt, along her back, to return the favor. She arched even further, her chest pressed so tightly against his that he could feel her fluttering heartbeat.

It was only when she broke away with a gasp that he paused, letting her catch her breath.  _She had just almost drowned after all._

That thought had him groaning in regret, and he knocked his forehead against hers. “Sorry,” he murmured, loosening his grip on her.

She responded by clasping her hands around his neck, pulling him back to her with a satisfied smile on her face.

“I’m okay with a little water in my lungs if this is the result,” Clarke quipped, pressing her hips into his in invitation.

He groaned, digging his fingers into her sides because  _fuck_  he wanted her, and badly. “That’s not funny,” he grumbled.

“Haven’t you heard? I like fun,” she whispered before sealing his lips with another kiss.

At the heated promise her mouth brought to his, all thoughts of the lake and their friends and everything but Clarke’s giggle, the sunlight dancing in her golden hair, and the feel of her body against his vanished as he backed her up against a tree.

“They’re going to be looking for us,” she stuttered out some time later as his mouth latched onto the soft spot beneath her ear. Her words melted into a groan as he kissed his way down to her shoulder, teasing back her collar as he went.

“Not for a little bit,” Bellamy countered, brushing his mouth back up to hers before claiming it in another deep kiss.

It didn’t last long though, because she pulled away again, looking at him sternly. “What are we going to tell them?”

He sighed fondly, because of course this was Clarke’s version of ‘fun’. “Can we figure it out later?” He finally murmured against her cheek before pressing a kiss there.

She softened underneath him at that, starting to smile again as she whispered, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Neither of them was ready for a while, and it was only the crashing footsteps of their friends that had them pulling away from each other, smiling as they clasped hands and went to rejoin the group. Clarke kept her fingers intertwined with his despite the shocked expressions on their friends’ faces, giving him an encouraging squeeze as they stepped up to explain what had changed.

Or rather, what had not, because if he was being honest with himself, ever since that first day when he had locked hands with her ( _you saved my life_ ), in his mind he had never really let go of Clarke.

So he squeezed her hand back, letting her know that he never would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes this version of Bellarke reuniting :)


End file.
